Childish Things
by PhoenixStorm30624
Summary: Sarah knew that one day she would have to leave the print shop, but she never thought that leaving would be so hard. Oneshot.


**You know how some people deal with their own problems by forcing similar problems onto characters and letting the characters deal with them? Well, that's kind of what this is. Yes, I know it's angsty. I do have ideas for real stories in the future, but I had the idea for this now, and I decided to share it with you. Reviews, good or bad, are always appreciated.  
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So this was all. This was the end. All of her clothes had been packed in trunks and sent ahead of her. The few necessities she had left had already been packed and loaded onto the coach where her parents were waiting for her. All that was left to do was to say goodbye and go home.

But it wouldn't be home. Not really, not as much as other places had been home. England had been her first home, where she learned how to walk and sew and be a proper lady with good manners who someone would want for a wife someday. The print shop was where she had finally put those skills to good use. She had cooked and cleaned and repaired mountains of clothes for the boys, and in return they had taught her things Mother never had: how to lie to protect your friends, how to report on a battle without getting shot, how loyalties can change, and how a few friends could become your whole world. New York would never be a home like that. In a few years she would move on to be married, and then her focus would need to be on giving her children a home rather than making one for herself.

When she came to America she never thought leaving would seem so melancholy. Then again, she never guessed a lot of what had happened to her. She never guessed that the young blond boy she had hit on the head with a pillow would reveal himself to be such a kind and caring person in the end. She never guessed how much she would worry over him at the end of a battle until she finally saw his face. She never guessed that Moses would become a second father to her when her own father was absent for so long. And yet, standing in front of the print shop for one last time, she was not sure what she felt was sadness. It was more an overwhelming numbness as she tried to argue her feelings into submission, because she knew that if she let them be felt, the pain would tear her apart.

She supposed she should have been more prepared than this. After all, everything she had done in the print shop for the last year had somehow echoed with finality. Henri had already left for France so long ago, and things just hadn't been quite the same since. She should not be so unhappy about leaving a place to begin her new life, when it was what she had been waiting for for as long as she could remember. But feelings were rarely logical.

"Take care of yourself, Sarah," Moses said with a comforting hand on her shoulder. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her throat already ached from the lump it held. Moses swept her into a hug. "I'll write as often as I can." She nodded into his neck, trusting that he knew what she meant without words. There wasn't enough time to give him all the words he deserved anyway. He had given her so much and accepted her without argument even when she knew that he disagreed with some of her beliefs. That was how Moses had always been. Forever kind and patient, accepting of everyone no matter what their beliefs or color. Gifts that could never be repaid, gifts for which he could never be thanked enough.

He let her go with a sad smile, and she turned to Dr. Franklin. "I'm sorry I didn't see more of you during your stay. Duty called in France. I did see your writing, however, and I want you to keep up with it. You have talent few have."

"Thank you," she croaked through the lump that was still building in her throat. Without much thought, she threw her arms around the man. He chuckled and returned the hug. She could not share his lightheartedness today. In the back of her mind was a nagging that she may not see him again. He was so old, older than anyone else she knew. Some days he could barely get out of bed because of various ailments. Someone like that could not live for long, and even though he showed no fear of death, she was not yet ready to accept that.

James was last, and she thought he was the hardest to bid farewell. Despite their constant bickering, they had grown a strong friendship, and she had never wanted that to end. Of course, they had both promised to write as much as they could, but what happened when James was away on an assignment and didn't get her letters or moved and didn't tell her? What happened when one day she was so busy with her new life that she kept putting off writing and never responded? What happened if their friendship fell apart? Looking at him now, she imagined that she saw the same fears in him, that perhaps these fears would be enough to push away the inevitable for a time. She and James hugged without a word; for once both were speechless. It was the same as with Moses: each had given the other too much, and neither could be thanked enough. They had grown up in each other's presence, each the near constant companion of the other. Their bickering had changed them. James was no longer entirely the crude, hot-headed, Patriot he had once been. She was no longer the stubborn, stuck-up, Loyalist she had been. The promises they had made to each other when they first met were fulfilled: she had made him a gentleman, and he had made her a Patriot. There was nothing left to say.

"Come along, Sarah!" Father called. "We want to make as much progress as we can today."

She quickly curtsied for them and muttered a goodbye before climbing into the coach.

They started to roll down the street, and, despite her determination not to do so, she looked back. The three men were watching them leave and waving. She couldn't stand it anymore. Even though it was not lady-like, and it probably appalled her mother, she stuck her head and arm out the window to wave back. She even smiled at them through the tears that had now escaped. The four of them stayed that way until the coach turned a corner, and the print shop was out of sight.

She slowly sat back in her seat properly. Her mother gave her a look, but must have been deterred by her daughter's tears, because she did not scold her for her lack of proper behavior. She was left to her thoughts, and although her parents were with her, she was very much alone.

She realized that in leaving the print shop she was leaving more than just her friends. She was leaving a part of herself. She would never be able to be so foolish as to run about the country during a war again. It was simply not allowed for her. She could never interview so many famous people again or set type or live with a household full of men who were not her relatives, no matter how close their friendship was. Unbidden, a verse from scripture floated to the front of her mind. _When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things._ She knew that in context the verse was not speaking of growing up in the way she meant, but it seemed fitting. That was what happened. She was leaving her childish ways at the print shop. She was moving on because the time had come to grow up.

The realization only made her weep more. She knew that it was time, of course, that it was only the natural order of things. Yet the knowledge did not stop her tears. Eventually she would stop, she knew, and accept the way things were supposed to come about. At the time, however, she was losing her childhood, and she would mourn for it.


End file.
